


Philosophia

by theamateurexpert



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Negative Mindspace, Porn Without Plot...but emotional, Praise Kink, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamateurexpert/pseuds/theamateurexpert
Summary: Martin was comfortable with loneliness, he even craved it. Something Peter Lukas could relate to. Martin felt that's what joined them, connected them, and ultimately distanced them. Then why did he find himself wanting more?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Philosophia

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day 2 of ~*~PeterMartin Week 2020~*~!
> 
> Again, I'm going into this event without a plan, but inspiration struck, and I managed to get this done!! I have to say, I'm pretty pleased with how it came out.
> 
> Is this piece somewhat an anti-thesis to the whole premise of the Lonely? Yes.
> 
> Is it VERY self indulgent? Also yes.
> 
> Do I have regrets? A little, but no risk, no reward, baybeeeeeee.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this NSFW piece, and I hope to get at least one more fic done for this week, but we'll see how it goes. If not, I'm sure you'll see more of this ship from me. I have so many plans. Enjoy!

Martin awoke with a familiar heavy feeling in his chest.

For the longest time, the sensation only followed him to bed, but now it seemed like it was always there.

The dull, aching weight made it difficult for Martin to think, let alone move.

 _If something pierced through his chest, would it help alleviate the pressure?_ \--he wondered.

Would it let the churning, oppressive gloom bleed out of him so he didn’t have to hold onto it anymore?

Martin didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to try it.

When he finally did get up and moving, he pulled the curtains open, letting daylight filter into the condominium he and Peter shared.

He settled into one of the plush chairs that faced the window, and looked outward.

It had become one of his little rituals, getting lost in the view. Peter certainly paid enough for it, _someone_ should enjoy it.

There had been reports of snow in the forecast, but it looked like it hadn’t gotten cold enough.

Instead of light flakes drifting down slowly, Martin watched thick raindrops pound down to the ground below.

It made Martin want to curl up all day and stay home. It was a terribly dreary sight. And yet, it brought him a strange sense of peace.

He honestly could sit there and watch the rain for hours. Martin had no plans, so he could certainly stay where he was for the remainder of the day. He would have, too.

If not for Peter’s early arrival.

The sound of the door startled Martin out of his thoughts, but he didn’t move to greet the older man.

Martin had learned that welcoming Peter home was sometimes more of a frustration than a thoughtful gesture in Peter’s mind.

If Peter wanted to initiate contact, he would.

So, Martin continued looking outside, trying to appear nonchalant.

Just because he didn’t say anything to Peter, didn’t mean he wasn’t pleased to see his companion.

Without much warning, large, warm hands settled on Martin’s shoulders, and he let out a contented sigh.

“Enjoying yourself?” Peter asked softly, reaching for Martin’s jaw and stroking it gently.

Martin nodded slightly. “Yeah. Just got up. This is as far as I could manage.”

Peter hummed in acknowledgment, not moving from behind Martin.

He followed Martin’s gaze and watched the lone passerbys far below, making their way through the storm.

“It is _quite_ dismal out there,” Peter said, still running his thumb along Martin’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Martin said softly, numbly aware of Peter’s touch.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, until Peter sighed and spoke again. “You look lovely like this.”

Martin let out a clipped, bitter laugh. “What, sitting here and doing nothing?”

Peter stopped his stroking, and leaned forward to look down at Martin. “I wouldn’t say nothing.”

When Martin didn’t speak, Peter continued. “Taking in the world, far away from anyone else. It’s a lovely thing.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed.

He couldn’t argue with Peter’s sentiment. On days like this, he wanted nothing more than to be far away from anyone as possible. The feeling of being seen, being engaged--it made Martin’s skin crawl.

Peter understood, though. The beauty of the melancholy.

 _They_ understood.

That was them, he supposed.

Two lonely, kindred souls.

It was enough to make Martin feel a pang of longing for the man who stood above him.

He reached out to touch Peter’s hand, and nuzzled into the warm fabric of Peter’s coat.

A soft sigh escaped Peter, and when he didn’t recoil, Martin knew that he was permitted to continue as he pleased.

“Peter--” Martin murmured, gingerly pressing further into Peter’s arm, “--I need to feel you.”

Peter inhaled deeply, and his grip on Martin grew tighter.

“Haven’t you already started to help yourself?”

“ _Peter_ \--” Martin scowled, pulling away and turning to face the older man, “You _know_ what I mean.” After a moment, his face softened and he spoke just above a whisper, “ _Please_.”

A look crossed Peter’s face, and Martin knew that he would get what he wanted.

In one surprisingly elegant movement, Peter lifted Martin from his chair and set off to their bedroom.

Peter wasted no time in undressing Martin, and Martin was happy to assist.

Once he was fully naked, he knelt at the edge of the bed, facing Peter, who was still fully clothed.

“Look at you,” Peter rasped, voice deep and full of want.

Martin shrunk back and stared down to the ground.

Peter reached out to run his hand roughly through Martin’s hair. Then, he grabbed a fistful and firmly pulled Martin’s head back.

Martin let out a choking whine and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid Peter’s gaze.

“Eyes on me, little one,” Peter said quietly, but with force behind his words.

Martin furrowed his brows and shook his head, “Peter--Peter, please, I _can’t_.”

“Let me see you,” Peter murmured. This time, it was more of a request than a command, and Martin couldn’t help but oblige.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up to Peter, like wounded prey at its hunter.

“There we are,” Peter said fondly, releasing his grip on Martin’s hair. “You don’t need to hide from me, Martin.”

“I know, I just--” Martin took a frustrated, shuddering breath, “--I can’t stand having you see me. Not like this. Not _ever_ , really.”

Peter sighed, and looked at Martin with genuine sympathy. “It isn’t easy for people like us to be seen, Martin.” He ran his calloused hands over Martin’s bare shoulders. “But you can trust me. I want you to know that.”

“I do!” Martin insisted quickly. “I _do_. I just can’t ignore these thoughts, these--these _feelings_.”

Peter watched Martin, and then slowly nodded, thoughtfully.

“Well, then, in that case--” he leaned forward, reaching down to brush his fingers across Martin’s thighs, “--we’ll have to find a way to get you out of your head, won’t we?”

Martin moaned, and before he could recover, Peter’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him gently, but firm.

Martin reached forward, grabbing on to Peter’s shirt, and Peter was quick to change his angle to accommodate Martin’s grip. It didn’t take long before Martin grew hard under Peter’s touch, and he whimpered through the sensation of it all.

“Good, that’s it--” Peter praised, looming over Martin and stealing glances when he could.

Any time Martin would try to hide, Peter was quick to chide him, and Martin would face him once more. After one too many times, Peter pulled away from Martin. He lifted the younger man, then threw him back on the bed, splayed out on his back.

Martin scrambled to find purchase, but Peter kept him from moving too far, so Martin was stuck with his legs spread wide in front of Peter.

“You don’t have to hide,” Peter reminded, pushing Martin’s legs slightly further apart.

“I don’t want you to see me!” Martin cried out, feeling a pang of guilt and shame. 

Peter growled low in his throat and grabbed Martin’s hips, dragging him to the edge of the bed. Once he had Martin close enough, Peter pulled him up, cupping Martin’s flushed face.

“I _want_ to see you. _All_ of you. You have known me and I have known you like few others have--” Peter whispered fiercely.

Martin gave a small sob, and Peter sighed, placing a gentle kiss on Martin’s forehead.

“Will you let me see you?” Peter asked with gentle desperation.

Martin took a few steadying breaths, staring up at Peter. “Y-yes…”

Peter gave a small smile of relief. He leaned down and peppered Martin’s neck with a trail of brusque kisses. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled quietly. “ _Thank you_.”

The two of them began to work against each other in earnest, touching and caressing frantically. Somewhere along the way, Martin was laying down again, and Peter took to preparing him.

Wet fingers found their way to Martin’s entrance, and he gripped Peter’s arm hard as one digit pushed into him. Then another. And another.

Peter took his time, and Martin didn’t mind at all. He savored every touch and whisper of praise.

When Martin was ready, Peter pulled back. He still was dressed, but had long since rolled his sleeves up and shed his heavy coat.

As he reached down to undo his own belt and zipper, Peter looked up to Martin and exhaled sharply.

“You’re beautiful,” Peter said reverently.

Martin, panting and desperate, felt a wave of emotion rush over him. Some part pain, the other joy, another disbelief.

“D’you--do you really think so?” Martin asked, voice cracking.

Peter nodded slowly and moved between Martin’s legs, guiding his cock to Martin’s entrance. 

“I do,” Peter said, lining himself up, “I think of you as a work of art, Martin.”

Taking great care, Peter slowly pushed into Martin.

Between the sensation of being filled, and Peter’s words, Martin wailed loudly, the sound tearing from his throat.

Peter let out a low, guttural growl, and slid his hips forward, until he was fully pressed inside.

Gradually, they built a pace between them, and the sounds of their desperation and delectation filled the air.

Peter grabbed Martin’s thighs and lifted his hips, driving into him with renewed vigor. The shift in position made Martin cry out, and it wasn’t long until Peter came undone.

Martin tried to protest, but Peter took hold of Martin’s length and didn’t release him until Martin reached completion as well.

The pair panted and rolled against each other, trying to relish every last sensation.

It wasn’t until they had cleaned up and were laying beneath the sheets together that Martin spoke again. His voice was slightly hoarse and his throat raw, “A work of art?”

Peter groaned. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

“That’s very bold,” Martin laughed lightly, as he ran his fingers through Peter’s wispy, white chest hair. 

“I thought it was poetic,” Peter mumbled, gently slapping Martin’s thigh.

“It was. It _was_ \--” Martin sighed contentedly, “--it was nice.” After a moment, he looked up to Peter.

“Thank you.”

Peter met Martin’s gaze, and moved to kiss the young man. When he pulled away, he settled back down again. “I meant it.”

“I know,” Martin said. This time, a much larger part of himself was willing to believe it.

Neither spoke after that, and as they laid there, they drifted off to sleep, firmly in each others’ embrace.


End file.
